First day jitters

How is it that after 27 years of teaching in the same building, in the same spaces, I can still get anticipatory anxiety right as I transition from summer break into the first week of school? You’d think it would be a breeze, a no-brainer; just follow all the patterns you’ve set over the years, make a few tweaks as you go, and enjoy the ride. And yet, there’s always butterflies in my chest, breathing becomes labored, and I have trouble falling asleep the night before the first day back.

The funny thing is, in the first two days, we don’t even see students. It’s all about professional development, seeing our colleagues old and new, and setting up our classrooms. As I was writing this, I felt a little tremor at the thought of what was about to happen, and I had done this many, many times over. I think it’s the anticipation of walking into the building, looking towards 186 long teaching days (some grueling), before the summer bliss begins again.

There’s a saying that you’re only as good as your next performance. In my case, hobbling into the building in a walking boot with a cane doesn’t exactly scream tour de force, especially when you rely on a healthy and intact body to do the job well. I am a dot-the-I-cross-the-t-and-then-wing-it-the-best-you-can kind of person. I prepare in advance, and then I’m prepared for things to change. The preparation, while quite time-consuming, is the easy part. Standing in front of ten different classrooms full of kids who all think they are grownups, but are really giant children; that’s a different story. Some are familiar faces and creative collaborators, some literally just came to this country and don’t speak a word of English. Some are super talented in their respective arts/sports, some barely move at all. Some enter, brimming with confidence and bravado, some wish they could melt into the wall.

I have to teach them all. And, I have to do it well. That’s why I get so anxious. Before we even lay eyes on each other, I understand the oceanic task I am about to embark upon, and it has to look easy. Engage. Inspire. Love. Create. Rinse and repeat; and do all that with adolescents who are distracted, apathetic, detached, and/or withdrawn. Sometimes, the scariest ones are the eager beavers because you never ever want to let the down in assuming they will always be there. It’s those kids who you have to work even harder to keep.

Doing all of that on a broken foot; another layer of challenge has been laid. Fun fact: 22 years ago, two days before the awful 9/11 travesty, I broke my left foot. We had no kids (yet) and I hobbled into school on crutches. As I sat down in the gym teaching my first dance class of the year, the day’s events quickly unfolded. And in the aftermath, as the weeks passed, I taught dance: from a chair. I got through it then, and I’ll get through it now.

Challenge accepted. I guess the lessons I’ll be teaching will be slightly different. They’ll witness frustration tolerance, adaptation, problem solving, and (begrudgingly) learning to lean on others. Hopefully they’ll see how there’s more than one way to accomplish a goal and how it is possible to take care of yourself as you are taking care of others.

On the eve of day one, I decided to prepare my stuff, knowing that my day would suddenly start much earlier than my season of summertime bliss, and that life in a walking boot on my right foot has made me a lot slower than usual. I made my lunch, my hot tea setup, my morning protein shake mix, my school backpack, everything that I would need to make it through the hours of the first day routines. Even getting those tasks done, I still couldn’t feel settled. I made myself some calming hot tea and tried to turn down the volume on the anticipation.

I laid in bed, eyes closed and remained very still. I watched a YouTube video of someone refinishing an old, battered wood dresser. I felt my heart beating, faster than usual. I held my husband’s hand, trying to ground myself. I got up and hobbled to the bathroom a few times (herbal tea…). Rinse and repeat. At some point, sleep took over, but not before an hour or two was stolen from me.

My 5:30 a.m. alarm went off and I sat up immediately. That has become my pattern at that time of morning. Since it is very, very dark outside, I have to get vertical so I don’t go back to sleep. It’s a stark contrast to the bright, sunniness at 7 or 8 a.m. that I had grown very accustomed to waking up to. Ah, the respite of summer, my happy place; ten weeks of slower, quieter recovery mode. I know, when I walk out of the building on the last day of school, just how quickly I’ll be walking back in. For the summer season, I put that in my back pocket and remain mindful of everything I want to do each day. Sleeping late, going to the gym, hiking, cleaning, lunches with friends; it’s like I’m practicing for the retirement I’ll be entering in four years. Only for now, I know that there will be a time to go back and experience the roller coaster of ten months immersed in East Ramapo life.

My sweet husband drove me to work, which pains me that I have to rely on him for any of my normal, usually solo, every day things. But he got me there, helped set up the knee scooter in my classroom and went on his way. The rest of the day was spent sitting in professional development, hobbling on my heel aided by my cane to the next venue for the next seated activity. After lunch, I propped my foot up and completed some computer prep work. At the end of the day, my husband came to take me home, and I situated myself on the couch with ice and stayed there, praying the healing was happening and I didn’t do anything to muck it up.

The truth is, it is hard to shake the feeling that I am letting people down in any way. There are things I cannot do right now and I have to lean on the kindness of others to do what I should be doing myself. People keep asking me how I will teach dance with a broken foot, and while I have an answer prepared about teaching from a chair and getting others to demonstrate, it is tinged with a fear that I might be too eager and do something might make it worse. I have an X-ray in two days and I’m afraid that the six week time clock will start over again. The mental stress is real.

I ended my night with a bowl of ice cream, hoping there might be some extra calcium in there to add to my broken bone. The good news, I suppose, is that I made it through my first day of the 2023-2024 school year. The plan is to take each day, each moment, as it comes. And that’s the best I can do.